Bother
by matraiea
Summary: I hate song-fics, but... About Snape before (and during) Hogwarts.
1. Too Dead To Cry

Bother

Disclaimer: While I obviously do not own the characters you recognize 

(*cough* Snape *cough*), I do claim Maleficent and Gerald as mine at my own 

peril. This story is set before Severus Snape gets to Hogwarts, and was inspired 

by the song "Bother" by Stone Sour (which, oddly enough, I don't own either!!).

Chapter One - Too Dead To Cry

*** Wish I was too dead to cry

My self-affliction fades ***

The raised voices seeped through his bedroom floor, louder, and then softer as 

the anger and hatred pulsed almost thick enough to touch in the living room 

below. He huddled on his bed, clutching his knees to his chest in a futile 

attempt to find some solace or warmth in his otherwise desolate and miserable 

childhood. He was grateful that the lights were out; even if anybody came in his 

room, no one would be able to see him cry.

 His father and step-mother had fought at least twice a day for as long as he 

could remember -- which wasn't saying much, since he was only eleven. But this 

time, he knew without a doubt that it was because of him. Pushing the sweat-damp 

black strands of hair out of his flushed, tear-stained face, he stared through 

the cast-iron bars on his window at the traffic that passed so quickly that he 

often could only make out a blur of color and motion. With a sigh, he wished, as 

always, that he had that much freedom.


	2. Masochists To Which I Cater

Bother

Disclaimer: 

I do not own Snape, oh no, ma'am

I do not own him, Sam I Am

I do not own him in a box

I do not own the sexy fox

I own not him, though I say 'damn'

I do not own him, Sam I Am

Chapter Two - Masochists To Which I Cater

*** Stones to throw at my creator

Masochists to which I cater ***

He could feel his left eye swelling to mammoth proportions, having taken the 

brunt of his father's rage and uncertainty. Wiping away the remaining tears, he 

took small consolation in the fact that his father had never looked at him that 

way before; with anger and disgust, yes, and pure unadulterated hatred, but 

never, never, fear. It had been an almost tangible thing, swimming in the larger 

man's bloodshot eyes as he floated near the ceiling, terrified by the heretofore 

unknown circumstance that, until that moment, had never even crossed his mind as 

being within the realm of the possible.

*****

"BOY, PUT ME DOWN!!" the man roared, his arms flailing wildly as he stared into 

his son's unblinking black gaze.

At the sound of his outraged voice, the boy visibly shook himself from the 

trance he seemed to be in, and Gerald let out a high, thin scream as he 

plummeted towards the kitchen floor. When he stood up, the fear was gone, and 

his son was cowering in the corner, awaiting the inevitable beating.

The mottled-grey owl had arrived from out of nowhere, it seemed, effectively 

postponing the violence until later. With a flutter, it dropped an 

antique-looking envelope on the table and sat beside it, ruffling his feathers. 

His attention suitable diverted from the boy, Gerald snatched up the letter.

The words were written in emerald ink, and addressed to Mr. Severus Snape.


	3. You Don't Need To Bother

Bother

Disclaimer: Matraiea is far too tired to think up witty rejoinders to suffice as legal disclaimers. Insert your own uproariously funny disclaimer *HERE*. J.K. Rowling is rich off of these characters, and I am not.

Chapter Three - You Don't Need To Bother

*** You don't need to bother

I don't need to be ***

Gerald shot his son a dirty glare. "Who'd be writing you?" Prying loose the 

purple wax seal, he opened the parchment envelope, withdrew the note inside, and 

read aloud:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of  WITCHCRAFT and  WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Snape,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of 

Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and 

equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.          

Yours sincerely,                                                         

Minerva McGonagall                                               

Deputy Headmistress

Throughout the reading, Gerald's olive complexion had grown considerably 

ruddier. Severus might've laughed at how closely his father resembled a grape 

had he not been overwhelmed by this new information. As the last words were 

spoken in a near whisper, the owl hooted once to impress upon them his need for 

a reply letter. Gerald stared at the bird in shock, and frantically shooed it 

away, glaring as it swooped gracefully overhead and landed on top of the 

refrigerator. He read the letter again, silently, and finally looked at his son 

speculatively. The boy stood tall, his beetle-black eyes glinting with hope and 

not a little trepidation. With a cruel sneer, Gerald calmly tore the parchment 

in half and threw it on the floor, enjoying the look of pure dejection that 

crossed Severus' face before the boy ruthlessly crushed any trace of emotion 

that lingered in his eyes. The owl hooted angrily in disapproval and disappeared 

as quickly as he'd come, despite the lack of an open window to depart from.

"What is this, boy?" Gerald said, his voice dangerously low. "Some kind of 

joke?" He watched as his son tried desperately not to give in to the 

overwhelming desire to retreat as the large man stepped toward him. "You know I 

don't take kindly to jokes." That impertinent defiance was still in Severus' 

eyes even as he struggled not to cower away from his father. "But then, that's 

nothing a good beating won't cure," Gerald smirked, as his fist made brutal 

contact with the boy's preternaturally pale face.


End file.
